Kind Calls To Kind
by Rivin Tarinius Majere
Summary: A few years after Christine's departure from the Opera Populaire, the Phantom of the Opera has gone unseen. No one knows where he's gone to, or if he's dead; and no one cares, in truth. If he's not bothering the Opera, all the better! But better for whom?
1. Chapter One

"Stop! I didn't do it! 'Twasn't me!" A young woman's voice filled the empty streets of Paris. Caresse backed up as she was advanced upon, cowering and cornered in the back of an alley. "iJe mendie de vous!/i (I beg of you!) iJe regrette, je regrette!/i (I'm sorry, I'm sorry!)" She slipped on an empty liquor bottle, falling heavily on her rump. Terrified, the teen scrambled backwards, until her back hit the wall. Terrified, she stared up at her pursuers. Her knees came up and she tucked then to her chest. Caresse lifted her arms to protect her face, shivering. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, pushing herself against the wall and wishing she could pass right through it. When rough hands grabbed her arms and pulled her up, she screamed, fighting to get away. "iSecours moi!/i (Help me!) iSecours!/i (Help!)" Someone's hand came up and smacked hard across the face, silencing her. Even her sobs stopped for a moment out of surprise before resuming. Caresse shuddered, leaning away from the men in front of her. Fearfully she looked up at her captor, pulling herself as far away as she could. "It wasn't me," she said, shivering. "I didn't steal from you!"  
  
The man reached forward and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her head backwards painfully. Caresse bit her lip hard, tasting blood. "No one pilfers anything from me, ipetit/i (whelp)," he growled. Holding her wrists in one hand, he pulled her head farther, baring a very tender neck. "Give back the ruby, and maybe I'll let you off with just a beating." He grinned wryly, a cruel look on his face.  
  
"I - I don't have it, Travers!" She cried. He backhanded her viciously. She could have sworn she felt hair rip from her head.  
  
"Spent it already, did you? You're going to pay, ima fille/i (my girl)." His face grew ugly, and he threw Caresse away from himself, into the wall. Her head knocked against the bricks, and she blinked dazedly. There were stars before her eyes. All she could think to do was lift a hand to the bump on her head; but before she could even reach her, she found she couldn't breathe as a fist connected with her ribs. Her eyes grew wide and she doubled over, gasping. Unable to hold herself up, she stumbled and fell to the ground on her hands and knees before the group's leaders. "Savill, hold her arms." The man moved quickly from behind Travers, and pulled Caresse's arms tightly behind her back. The girl winced, and felt a booted foot collided with her stomach. She couldn't breath through the breadth of a few heartbeats, and her eyes watered almost immediately.  
  
"iPlaire/i (please)," she breathed, unable to speak loud enough. She couldn't see, but the man in front of her must have done something, for Savill threw her away, where she landed on her side, groaning and clutching her stomach. She heard laughter behind her, and closed her eyes tightly, thinking they'd go away, be done with her. Caresse wasn't going to get off so easy.  
  
The sound of a belt being unbuckled reached her ears, and she cringed as she heard it sing through the air. The leather connected with her shoulder, and she bit her lip at the sting. Not satisfied, Travers pulled the make shift whip back again, and struck her with all his force across her unprotected chest. Caresse screamed, and moved her arms to cover as much of herself as she could, but the pain was still there. "iHalte!/i Stop!"  
  
"Not until I get my ruby," Travers growled. He threw away the belt - Caresse could hear it thump on the ground somewhere. She didn't dare look up to see what was happening, but she heard the three others, including Savill, laughing. She wanted to cry out, make him see that she didn't ihave/i it, but before she could move at all, she felt herself kicked again, and thrown onto her stomach. She groaned, her arms trapped beneath her, a heavy weight on top of her. Had Travers sat on her?  
  
iOh,/i Dieu i(God), please,/i she thought desperately. iDon't let me die./i  
  
She felt a very sudden, almost frigid draft as her clothes were torn off. Caresse's eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth to issue a wordless scream, completely terrified. She bucked, wanting to throw the weight off of her, wanting to at least be free to attempt running. She couldn't move though, or maneuver her arms to be of any use. She heard their laughter again, and shrieked.  
  
"iNon, non!/i" She screamed, kicking as best she could when rough hands were sliding across her naked back. "No!"  
  
It felt like hours later when she was finally alone again. They'd taken her, each of them, she expected. Travers had twice. Maybe thrice? She hadn't kept count; it was too painful. Now she huddled in on herself, waiting for them to leave. She heard someone - probably Savill - laugh, and spit. The saliva landed near her face, and closed her eyes, disgusted; with him, with herself, with her body's betrayal.  
  
When their footsteps died, she curled up and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Each in drawn breath was like the twist of a knife in her ribs; she'd be surprised if the man hadn't broken anything. Blood covered the insides of her thighs. It had pleased Travers to no end to find out she was a virgin; he'd been all the crueler. How could a whore like herself never have been with a man, he wanted to know. Or perhaps it wasn't men she was interested in? Perhaps she preferred a woman's touch, as so many men did, he'd said.  
  
She'd had to listen to the insults, the derogatory laughs through her own rape.  
  
Rape; she'd been raped. And what was worse, she couldn't go to the police and report it. Who would believe iher?/i She was trash; she wasn't needed, her word meant nothing. Travers' position wasn't much higher than hers, but he knew how to seem innocent in front of the authorities. Otherwise, he'd have been hung long before this. Or beheaded.  
  
Breathing was getting harder and harder; she was only taking in shallow amounts of air to avoid the pain in her ribs and stomach, but even that wasn't working anymore. It all hurt so much -  
  
She heard soft laughter above her and scowled, trying to stop her sobs. It wasn't exactly cruel - but it certainly wasn't a nice laugh, either. And it was strangely.pretty. She didn't need anyone to know she was there; not yet. She bit her lip and halted her breath, listening hard. Softly, so quiet she could barely hear it, a voice rose out of the night's darkness  
  
"Wandering child.  
  
So lost.  
  
So helpless.  
  
Yearning for my  
  
Guidance."  
  
Caresse gasped, and forced herself into a sitting position, clutching at her front with a wince of pain. "Who's there?" She gasped out. It was a song - a ibeautiful/i song. She wanted to hear more; she wanted to her the rest!  
  
All that reached her ears was more laughter. And then - silence. She sighed, and hung her head, hissing in pain. "Oh, God," she murmured. Unable to hold herself up, she laid back down on the cold stones. The was a blackness edging around her vision, and she closed her eyes, too tired to fight anymore. Let her die here, in the alleys; the same as she'd been born. "Let it all end."  
  
The last thing she heard, before passing off into the beautiful oblivion, was the same soft laughter of before. 


	2. Chapter Two

She was there; laying there on the cold cobblestones at the end of the alley, clearly unconscious. Just as the note had said.  
  
Madame Giry shivered. The note…she'd not received a note as this in years. It was terrifying – and strangely thrilling. The Phantom; had he returned once more, to prey upon the Opera? Had he come back to kill again? Or was he back to force them all to better themselves?  
  
…Or, had he never gone? Had he lain in wait, watching them all…  
  
Madame Giry shook her head. She would not think on this now, not when that girl was in obvious trouble. "Meg, over here!"  
  
A young woman with curly blonde hair made her way quickly to her mother's side, peering curiously over at the girl lying in the shadows of the alleyway. "Mother, why am I here? You still haven't told me a thing!" She was indignant at not having been entrusted to this obvious secret; she did not like not knowing what was happening; especially not since the whole Phantom affair.  
  
"Quiet, Meg. I didn't want to start a panic. I received a note, today." Perhaps her daughter would catch her clipped tone, and the enormity of those words. Not waiting to see, Madame Giry strode forward, glancing about her once as she neared the fallen girl. "Come and help me, here." The elder woman crouched next to the girl, who looked as if she was younger than her daughter. Carefully, she lifted the girl into a sitting position, propping her against herself and holding her up that way. Catching a glimpse of her face, she frowned and pushed her thick ebony hair away from her face. She heard Meg gasp somewhere in front of her and looked up at her daughter. "Sit down and help me," she said strictly. The young woman obeyed, handling some of the girl's weight.  
  
"Look at her face, mother. Who did this to her?" She glanced up and around them; Meg knew very well what her mother having received a note meant; the Phantom had returned once more. She knew they'd done nothing to offend him, but she still felt herself itching to raise her hand to the level of her eyes. She forced her attention back to the unconscious girl.  
  
There was a large bruise covering her right cheek; and it looked painful. Her clothes were torn; all that was really covering her was a long, black cloak. Both mother and daughter frowned at this; where would she have gotten a cloak like that? It was very nice; it looked to be the caliber of something expensive. And she…the girl looked as if she didn't have the money for the smallest of housings, the most meager of food…and certainly, her torn clothes paled terribly in comparison to the cloak. It was obvious. The covering was not her own.  
  
She groaned, and shifted her head slightly. Madame Giry held her breath for a moment, and then let it out when she made no more movement. Slowly, she shifted the cloak away, and found the front of her modest dress to be mostly whole; it seemed as if only the back had been torn off. Frowning, the ballet teacher swept her gaze over the girl, stopping at her hips. Her eyes widened, and her face paled. She swallowed hard.  
  
"Mother, what is it?" Meg was alarmed to see the change in her parent, not thinking to look and see what had caused it.  
  
"Oh, my," the elder Giry murmured. "Lift her skirt."  
  
Meg was taken aback, and blinked in surprise. "What? You're joking, mother, surely?"  
  
"I am not. Now do it. My arms are getting tired."  
  
"But mother, why can't you do it? I don't want to see –" Before she could finished, Madame Giry had shifted the girl's weight and snaked out her arm to slap her daughter. Meg blinked, raising her hand to her cheek. It was not often that her mother hit her; and she seemed scared herself. Wordlessly, she reached forward and lifted the girl's dress. She gasped at the sight.  
  
"As I feared," The elder woman muttered sadly. Blood coated the poor girl's thighs. Giry motioned for her daughter – who was now as white as she – to replace the skirt. "Help me." She started to rise, holding the girl. It was still early; they could hold her without anyone important seeing. No one should be out, at this hour.  
  
"Mother," Meg started, working to raise the girl as she spoke. "Where are we taking her?"  
  
"The Opera Populaire."  
  
The young woman's surprise was wordless, but she almost dropped the girl's burden. "Why there," she asked apprehensively. To the Phantom's home? Did her parent intend to bring her to where the Phantom could easily see her?  
  
"Because," Giry grunted as she held to girl's torso, motioning for her daughter to lift her legs. "There she will be safe. Which is what I was instructed to do, Meg. Now, let's hurry, before we seem too suspicious, carrying a motionless body to the Opera like this." She smiled softly, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. Of course, she really didn't feel like smiling; this was horrible! It seemed as if the poor girl had been raped, and left in the alleys to rot. She needed help, certainly, and Madame Giry could give it at the Opera, in her rooms there. That was where she would bring the girl; and then…  
  
Then she would wait for further instructions. 


End file.
